


show and tell

by MidnightRaven



Series: One with the Giants [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fantasy, First Meetings, KuroDai Week, M/M, Pre-Relationship, and worldbuilding heh, only a bit, theres a little dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:32:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightRaven/pseuds/MidnightRaven
Summary: Crown Prince of Karasuno, Sawamura Daichi, is called back to the castle from during his outpost checks for reasons unknown to him. Nekoma’s Heir Apparent, Kuroo Tetsurou, arrives at Karasuno with an exhibition to perform and a promised show.





	show and tell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kurodai Week, Day 1: First Meeting/Next Time! I'm unbelievably excited for this fanweek BUT I'M NOT HERE DURING IT :,) 
> 
> This is a side story of the main series, somethings may be changed.

Kuroo fiddled with the small golden earrings in his hand, rolling the three cartilage rings between his fingers and watching.

Around him the rest of his team were in the process of preparing for their exhibition; putting on their body paint and uniforms, warming up, stretching and going through the familiar motions that was ingrained into their muscles at this point.

It wouldn’t be Nekoma’s first time performing an exhibition in Karasuno- but it was certainly the first time Kuroo ever felt uneasy about performing.

The last time he had performed in this hall, on this very same stage, had been less than three months ago and under the calculating eyes of the nation’s king. And yet, why was he this nervous? It was a routine he could do in his sleep and he had already braved the cutting eyes of Karasuno’s King.

The memory of a firm hand, warm and sure, flashed across his mind- _a pair of challenging_ _brown eyes_ \- and he stared at his hand. He curled it into a fist, tight, but it wasn’t as tight as the handshake that he recalled, gripping his own in a steady confidence he was rather envious about.

He was pulled back to reality as a brush attacked his hair and he hissed. Kuroo stared balefully up at Yaku, who held the brush like a weapon.

“For once you’re not the first one to finish,” Yaku commented, yanking the brush through a heavily knotted area. Kuroo winced but grinned up at Yaku nonetheless.

“Are you worried about me? You’re finally showing your true caring self, Yakkun.”

Yaku rolled his eyes, giving his hair a tug. “Why are you nervous? We’ve done this before and it’s not even as important as last time.”

“Nervous? Who me?” Kuroo tapped his chest in mock offense before reaching up and taking his time with putting his earrings in. He didn’t look Yaku in the eye.

Yaku gave a noncommittal hum and merely continued brushing his hair into a more purposeful mess.

“At least you’ve got your uniform on,” Yaku grumbled without any real irritation. Kuroo flashed him a grin, smoothing down the silky fabric of his red vest; it had golden designed sprawled around the edges, symmetrical and gleaming under the torch light. His pants, loose and seamless, was also red with a gold trim that ran up his legs- it would mimic a live flame when he _moved_.

“Here,” a voice muttered as a bowl of black paint was dropped into Kuroo’s lap. He gave a snort as he picked up the bowl and turned to Kenma, who had plopped himself down beside Kuroo.

“Wasn’t Yamamoto supposed to do this?” Kuroo asked, dipping his fingers into the cool black paste. Kenma shrugged as he put on a gold bracelet on each of his wrists. Beside him, Kuroo began drawing out the designs they wore for any performance they did, the paint cold against his skin.

“Arms up,” Kuroo prompted with a nudge. He carefully finished the circle that ran around the other’s arms and wiped his hands, finished. The design was something they all knew how to paint- lines and patterns that accented their movements and drew eyes.

Kenma finished clasping on his anklets- gold once again and adorned by bells- and Kuroo passed him the bowl. Dutifully, Kenma took it and returned the favour. His fingers were steady as he went through the familiar motions.

“Don’t forget these.” Yaku quickly handed Kuroo his set of bracelets and anklets before darting away. Kuroo offered him a quick ‘ _thanks_!’ before reaching down to clasp the anklets on. The bracelets and anklets were tight against his skin, but it would prevent them from sliding whenever he did the flips and jumps of their routine.

“Ready?” Kuroo asked Kenma as the other ran his finger down for the last line needed on his body paint. Kenma glanced at him as he wiped the excess paint off his hands with a towel.

“I think I should be asking you that, Kuro.”

Kuroo leaned back, hands grasping the stool underneath him, and claimed airily, “I’m always ready.”

Kenma gave a silent scoff, walking away. Kuroo huffed at his departing back before leaning down and picking up his bo staff, its smooth wood familiar and comforting. He spun it in his hand, adjusting himself to the similar, yet different, weapon and tapped it on the ground.

“I’ll be ready. I promised to perform a good show after all.”

* * *

“This is your first time seeing Nekoma’s exhibition, Daichi?”

Daichi nodded, turning slightly in his seat to face his father, who drew an intimidating figure when seated on his velvet black throne; its gleaming silver armrests and detailing adding to that vibe.

“Yes, I was at the borders last time Nekoma visited.”

“Mm.”

Seeing no further attempt at conversation, Daichi leaned back into his own throne- smaller and more simple than his father’s but no less elegant- and eyed the empty stage.

The raised stone platform was already lit by numerous torches around the edges and on the walls. The hall was filled with a good number of their citizens, from what he could see on the balcony, and a rush of anticipation ran through him.

The show had yet to start, and the audience softly chatted below them, but Daichi swore he could hear the clicking of wood on stone. The sound was faint yet ringing. Distantly, he thought he imagined the familiar jingle of bells.

Suddenly, all the torches blew out. There was an accompanying bang and silence fell upon everyone. Daichi jumped, reflexively reaching towards his belt, stopping only when his father gave no reactions beyond an amused smirk.

In front of them, the stage wasn’t empty anymore. Though the darkness, Daichi caught sight of movement and, as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he spotted many figures darting around.

With a pop of air, the torches were lit up once again- with a another bang- and a person rushed out. The person, with one hand pushing off the ground, twisted into the air with a bo staff staff, unhindered. He landed flawlessly in the middle of the stage, staying crouched as he glanced up.

Daichi sucked in a sharp breath as he met sharp amber eyes, his own widening in surprise as he unconsciously leaned forward. He knew this person.

Kuroo Tetsurou, heir to the throne of Nekoma, slowly stood up. The fluttering flames around them casted shadows over his face, played with the gold accents he wore and brushed him with a soft, pale orange. Behind him, more members of Nekoma ran out, uniform and coordinated.

Keen feline eyes stared at him and Daichi recalled the moment he had first met the owner of them- the very same amber eyes gleaming and mirthful.

“ _So you’re the future flock leader_?”

Kuroo’s eyes snapped away as he reached down to brace himself for another flip. Daichi slowly exhaled. His eyes were glued onto the dancer-like movements and the flashing gold on red. While he marveled at all the performer’s abilities and skills, his eyes were drawn back towards Kuroo- whose black designs flexed along with his muscles and skin shone with a layer of sweat; whose hands skillfully handed the wooden staff just as well as he did the spear he wielded in combat.

Daichi’s heart pounded with the beat of wooden staffs on stone, bells chiming, and he held his breath as he watched. It was fascinating to see a shadow of their fighting style in every movement. To see Kuroo whirl across the stage, deceivingly harmless. His movements were exaggerated and staged, practiced and consistent.

It was a difference from what he remembered, the two of them hidden in the dark and fending off attackers with curt and immediate actions.

The dance- very heavily based upon Nekoma’s fluid and aerobatic fighting style- ended with an abrupt bang of wood on stone and a quick gesture that extinguished the torches, dropping them back into the darkness, just as they had done in the beginning.

“ _Cats do pretty well in the dark, Sawamura. Trust us_.”

As the hall filled with applause, Daichi took a solid breath and leaned back into his seat, his heart still racing and staring at the now empty stage.

“Interesting isn’t it?”

His father’s comment startled him and he turned, smoothing down his surprise and coughing. “It’s very- flashy.”

“Yes. It’s unlikely they’d show us their actual fighting style this easily.”

Daichi murmured his agreement, though his mind was nowhere near assessing Nekoma’s abilities and skills. For a moment, he wondered if he should mention how Kuroo wielded his spear, not unlike the way he handled the bo staff, how utterly _dangerous_ the other man could be.

It wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to share with his father- with someone who watched everything with a suspecting eye and an even more cautious mind; who, despite signing the peace treaty, was more than eager for any advantage over their allies.

No, his father would have to look somewhere else for a weakness.

“See them out would you, Daichi? Through the south exit. Make sure they don’t linger.”

Daichi swallowed down his disapproval and curtly nodded, standing. His father’s curt dismissal of Nekoma disrespected how much work and travel their allies must have done; it didn’t sit well with him at all.

And as he left, feeling vaguely offended on Nekoma’s behalf, that one last parting sentence he heard weeks ago, echoed through his mind.

“ _We’ll put on a show you can actually see next time_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr (cawnvictofmurder)](http://cawnvictofmurder.tumblr.com/)  
> Let me know if you liked it and thank you for reading!


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